#or to betray what you love about who you love

[justauthoring]

Late Night Trouble

Summary: Sylus has to leave your side during an auction because of some business. Surely nothing will go wrong, right?

Pairing: Qin Che / Sylus x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,127

A/N: A little fluff piece because I'm obsessed with this man. I will get to your guys' requests soon but I was inspire for some protective Sylus after I saw a severe lack of it in the tags.

Your feet were killing you.

Absolutely aching. They had been since about an hour into arriving at this auction, but there was no quick relief in sight. Sylus had assured you that this evenings auction would be a quick in and out and you'd accompanied him under the expectation that you would be spending the majority of your night in his arms at home.

Only, Sylus was no where to be found and unfortunately, you were not at home. Something or another had gone wrong during the auction and as usual, Sylus didn't want you to have to worry about business that you had no need to. You weren't worried because you were assured and confident in Sylus' strength and capabilities to handle the situation.

You didn't find offence to him keeping you in the dark - you knew it simply came from a place of believing you were too good to have to deal with these pathetic men who attempted to betray or overthrow Sylus. It never worked out and you knew it never would.

So, no, you weren't annoyed. Or really even frustrated. You were tired, your feet hurt and all you wanted was to be in the arms of the man you love.

Taking a sip of your glass of wine that you've been mulling over since Sylus had left your side to deal with business, you eye the protocore's up for auction that evening with little interest. You have everything you need and more and these auctions have long since become dull to you over the years.

"Nothing of interest?"

Turning your head at the new voice, you raise a brow at the man who has not-so-subtly sidled up to your side. He's wearing a fancy suit that is a touch to big for him and looks entirely too out of place on him, and you let your eyes drag across him for a moment before shrugging.

"Not really," you respond dryly, turning away from him to try and make it clear that you're not interested in a conversation.

It apparently isn't clear given the way he continues to speak to you; "too good, then?" He offers, tilting his head at you. "Or have you just not been shown everything?"

Halting at his words, you take a small step back, trying to create distance. "Meaning?"

"Just that I don't think you've been shown everything on offer tonight," he smirks, eyes twinkling. "And maybe I'm the one who can."

You let out a short huff. It's clear this man has no idea who you are.

"Very smooth," you roll your eyes, "but I'm not interested."

You think that makes it obvious and you turn away, expecting him to walk off before his pride is harmed anymore. There's lots of pretty faces in the crowd tonight for him to sink his teeth in; most importantly, ones who aren't already in relationship.

Except, you don't hear his footsteps disappear and instead, there's a hand wrapping around your arm.

"Come on," the man urges, tugging you towards him to the point your head has to tilt back to look at him. Your hand quickly comes to his chest, pushing back to create distance. "Not even a chance?"

He smiles in what you assume he thinks is alluring, but it only makes you sick.

"No," you say sharply. "I'm actually waiting for someone."

"Oh?" He laughs, "who?"

"Sylus," you answer dully. "I'm sure you've heard of him."

For the briefest of seconds, the man looks somewhat unsure, a flash of fear flickering through his gaze before his eyes flitter across your figure once more and he chuckles. "You're pretty, sweetie, but not that pretty."

Offended and annoyed, you try to tug your arm out of his grasp.

"You're a prick," you hiss, "and I'm over this conversation."

His grip tightens, pinching to the point that pulls a small yelp from your lips. Suddenly, his face darkens and the disgusting charm he'd been playing up disappears for the sake of spitting out; "listen, I was trying to be nice and give you the chance you normally wouldn't be given. So why don't you be less of a bitch-"

"I promise you you'll come to regret those words."

Any fear you'd felt disappears instantly at the sound of that familiar voice. Suddenly, there's a warm chest pressed against your back and the man's grip is being pried off of your arm as the man lets out a undistinguished cry at Sylus' grip.

Relieved, you turn back to meet Sylus' awaiting gaze.

"Hello there, sweetie," he smiles warmly, deep voice rumbling against your back as his free hand comes to wrap around your waist. "Sorry I'm late."

You sink into his touch, turning into his embrace, "'s okay," you mumble.

He squeezes you against him before turning back to the man still cowering and whimpering in his grasp. "Now, what was it you said? That my girl wasn't... pretty enough for me?" Something sinister flickers in Sylus' eyes and the man without hesitation falls to his knees.

"I'm sorry, sir! I'm so sorry!" He screeches pathetically. "I had no idea."

"Except you did," Sylus corrects. "Because she told you and you chose to insult her." There's a sickening crack that follows his words and a bellowed yell leaves the man's lips as echoes of gasps and disbelief flutter amongst the crowd. "I don't appreciate you trying to tell her her worth when everyone in here should be aware she's the most beautiful woman in this room."

Cheeks warming, you squeeze Sylus's arm. "Sylus..." You mumble, embarrassed.

Sylus glances down at you, taking one look, before throwing the man to the ground. "You're lucky for tonight," Sylus spits down at him. "But count your blessings."

He turns away at that, turning towards you and you move to step with him but before you can, there's an arm slipped underneath you as you're lifted up off your feet.

"Sylus!"

Clutching your arms around his neck, you turn to him shocked.

He just smirks, sending you a look before holding you with the arm underneath your back and using his free hand to slip off your heels.

"Your feet must be killing you, kitten," he whispers to you, ignoring the following gazes of the crowd as he makes his way out of the building. "I left you standing there all alone too long. I'm sorry."

Letting your head fall against his chest, you hum; "it's okay. You came when it matters."

"Not quick enough," he denies, swinging his heels next to his side as he effortlessly carries you to his motorcycle. "You deserve to be pampered all night, sweetie."

Smiling softly, you meet his eyes; "yeah?"

"Yeah," he nods, smirking. "I'll make sure of it."

[solxamber]

Read the male incubus reader and it was so good BEHEBEBENEJEJ your so talented omg

If you can do anything else similar to that again, just a very teasing reader that knows how to fluster literally anyone of the main boys I'd be on my hands and knees cause BSBSBSA it's so good.

May you rest well pookie cause you deserve it 💪

thank you!! and sorry for the extremely long wait </3

Housewardens x Tease! Reader

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle’s face turns the shade of his hair the moment your sly words slip from your lips. He tries to maintain composure, but his rigid posture betrays his inner turmoil.

“Y-you can’t just say things like that!” he stammers, voice wavering as he desperately adjusts his tie to buy time. You lean in slightly, resting your chin in your hand, eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

“Oh? And what exactly did I say, Rosehearts? You’ll have to be specific. Otherwise, how will I know what to stop?”

Riddle sputters, gripping his teacup like it’s the last thing grounding him. “H-Have some decorum!”

You only laugh, knowing full well he’ll be replaying this moment for the rest of the week.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona scoffs when you start teasing, but the way his ears twitch betrays how much your words are getting to him.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he grumbles, trying to look annoyed.

“Clever? Oh, no. I’m just observant,” you reply, your tone dripping with mock innocence. “Like how your tail flicks every time I say your name like this—Leona.”

His eyes narrow, and he leans back with a growl. “You’ve got a death wish.”

“And you’ve got a cute blush,” you say with a grin.

Leona throws a pillow at you, grumbling about "annoying herbivores," but you can tell he doesn’t mean it.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on his ability to negotiate, but you’ve got him fumbling like a first-year.

“Careful, Ashengrotto,” you tease, watching him adjust his glasses for the tenth time. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were nervous.”

“I-I am not nervous!” he protests, his voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

“Oh? Then why are you blushing?” you ask, leaning in with a smirk.

Azul stammers, frantically flipping through the paperwork on his desk. “I-I have important matters to attend to! Y-you’re dismissed!”

You laugh as you leave, knowing he’s going to be thinking about this for days.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim’s laughter is infectious, but even he can’t hide how flustered he gets under your teasing.

“You’re too sweet, Kalim,” you say, resting your chin in your hand. “Almost makes me want to keep you all to myself.”

Kalim’s eyes widen, and he fumbles with the rings on his fingers. “W-wait, really? You’d want that?”

“Of course,” you reply with a playful smirk. “Who wouldn’t?”

His face lights up like a firework, and he starts rambling. “You’re amazing! I mean, wow, I didn’t expect—wait, you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

You laugh, and Kalim joins in, even as his face remains flushed.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil tries to brush off your teasing with grace, but even he isn’t immune to your charm.

“You’re stunning as always, Vil,” you say, your voice dripping with sincerity. “It’s almost unfair to the rest of us.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he replies, though the faint blush on his cheeks says otherwise.

“Oh, but I think it will,” you counter, leaning closer. “After all, you deserve to be reminded of how perfect you are.”

Vil’s composure slips for a moment, and he clears his throat. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” you reply with a wink, leaving Vil behind to regain his composure.

Idia Shroud

Idia’s hair flares neon pink the moment you start teasing, and he looks like he’s about to combust.

“Wow, Idia, you’re really cute when you’re blushing,” you say, leaning in with a smirk.

“C-cute?! Me?!” he stammers, tugging at the strings of his hoodie. “T-that’s not—I mean—w-what are you even saying?!”

“Just the truth,” you reply, watching as his hair flickers nervously.

Idia buries his face in his hands. “I’m going to die. This is it. I’m dead.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s a fun death,” you reply, and Idia groans, hiding even further in his hoodie.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is used to admiration tinged with fear, but your teasing catches him completely off guard.

“You know, Malleus, you’ve got this whole dark and brooding thing down, but I bet you’d look even cuter if you smiled more.”

Malleus blinks, clearly taken aback. “Do you truly think so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply, stepping closer. “In fact, I might just have to make it my mission to see you smile every day.”

Malleus’s lips twitch upward for a brief moment before he clears his throat, his usual regal composure slipping. “You are... most peculiar.”

“And you’re most adorable when flustered,” you reply, and Malleus stares at you, clearly unsure of how to respond.

Masterlist

[my-castles-crumbling]

boss - January 24 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 287

“Ugh, and he’s so fit,” Claire, one of Regulus’s coworkers, whispered to her friend as they all ate lunch in the brightly-lit breakroom. “Like, talk about the whole package, you know? Smart, attractive, a leader…”

From his spot by himself at a different table, Regulus snorted. 

Immediately, Claire sent him an icy glare. “What?”

 “You know you don’t have to worship him just because he’s the boss, right?” he said flatly. “He’s not that special. Actually, he’s rather annoying and obnoxious. And really not that attractive, e-”

But he was cut off by Claire’s squeak as her eyes grew wide and she pointed behind him.

“Hello, Mister Black.”

Regulus didn’t have to turn to know who had entered the room. “Hello, Mister Potter,” he said silkily, expression blank.

“Can you come with me, please?” the same deep, calm voice asked. Claire and her friend both gasped, hands on their hearts.

Sighing, Regulus collected his things and turned to follow the tall, curly-haired, bespectacled man from the room to his office. His heart was racing, but he betrayed nothing until the door was closed behind them and James turned to face him. Then, a huge smirk appeared on his face. “Are you angry at me, then, Mister Potter?”

James, grinning, crowded him against the wall, their chests pressing together, making Regulus’s entire body grow warm. “Love. I can take ‘annoying’ and ‘obnoxious’ and ‘not special.’ But ‘not that attractive?’ You wound me.”

Regulus just grinned, leaning forward to nip at James’s jawline and whisper in his ear. “Hm. How on earth will I make it up to you, then?”

And with that, he crashed their lips together, already thinking of a few ways he could do just that.

[fear-is-truth]

dae-ho 강대호 / PLAYER 388 as your boyfriend

tags — fem!reader﹒ sfw headcanons﹒established relationship﹒fluff

dae-ho, who knows an embarrassing amount about “girly” stuff—despite the typical “guys don’t know shit about makeup” stereotype. he can identify your products by name—“you left your stippling brush on the sink again,” he had casually mentioned once, leaving you stunned.

dae-ho, who is good at taking care of you when you’re feeling unwell, especially during that time of the month (growing up with four sisters, he has learned everything there is to know about periods.) he’ll make sure you have heat pads, pain relief meds, chocolate, and your favorite snacks stocked up.

dae-ho, who doesn’t care if something is “emasculating” as long as it makes you happy. wearing a tiger face mask or letting you stick glittery clips in his hair? no problem. your joy is worth more to him than any outdated social expectations.

dae-ho, who lets you braid his hair and braids yours in return. he’s surprisingly good at it, thanks to his sisters. fishtail, french braid… he’s got you covered.

dae-ho, who gives you the softest, dopiest smiles when you’re braiding his hair, applying a face mask, or just rambling about your day, he’s looking at you like you hung the moon.

dae-ho, who sometimes forgot to take out your scrunchie from his own hair when he goes outside.

dae-ho, who acts like it’s just regular “good boyfriend duty” by letting you paint his nails. really, he’s just amused by how cute you look, biting your lip in concentration.

dae-ho, who picks up on your mood quickly. if you’re having a rough day, he’ll know it before you even have to say anything. he’s the kind of boyfriend who just gets it, always there to listen, or just holding you in his big arms.

dae-ho, who is incredibly patient. even when you’re snippy or plain unreasonable, he’d never take it personally. his calmness makes you feel safe, no matter what mood you’re in.

dae-ho, who has a protective streak especially when it comes to you. if anyone messes with you, he’ll step in without hesitation, but he’ll do so in a calm manner. never the type to make a scene, but you can always count on him to have your back when you need it.

dae-ho, who acts all wounded when you gang up with his sisters. if you’re laughing at an inside joke with them, he’ll gasp dramatically, hand over his heart. “betrayed by my own girlfriend,” he’ll say, pouting like a kicked puppy. but he secretly loves seeing you bond with them.

dae-ho, who is very respectful of your boundaries, whether they’re physical or emotional. he’s never pushy and always checks in with you to make sure you’re comfortable.

dae-ho, who loves hyping you up— if you ever feel self-conscious, he is always there to remind you how amazing you are. he wants to see you feel good about yourself, and he’ll always be there to support that.

dae-ho, who is adoring and affectionate—he loves physical affection and will never shy away from showing it. he’s also an excellent listener, always asking how your day went and showing genuine interest.

dae-ho, who texts you photos of random things because they remind him of you. a pretty sunset, a stray cat, or a newly opened bakery.

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[taraljc]

okay you guys here's what I remember from my 6th grade English class which also involved me reading every single book in the library on Greek mythology:

The biggest guns in 12 Olympians are the sons and daughters of Kronos the god of time. They fought the Titans and then took over their jobs but did a really shitty job in a lot of cases and they should have probably let Helios and the rest of the Titans alone. but Zeus had mad hate on for his dad Kronos and that's why they were banished to a prison in the underworld.

Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hera, Demeter, Hestia were born of Kronos. Athene, Aphrodite, Ares, Hephaestas, Apollo and Artemis, and Hermes were born of pretty much mostly Zeus and sometimes Hera. We only really hear about Poseidon's kids when they're half human and do heroic shit. Recognising that their family are assholes and they want nothing to do with them, Hades and Persephone have dogs instead of kids and their dog is named Spot.

Iris is Hera's messenger. You can only see where she's been by the rainbow in the sky in her wake.

Hermes is a trickster and a thief and also a messenger. He also likes to tinker in his off time and create things like musical instruments and occasionally steals entire flocks of sheep for the lols.

Demeter is in charge of growing things and the harvest. For reasons that absolutely defy understanding, she hook up with Zeus that one time and they had a daughter. Persephone or Kore is the goddess of spring and the queen of the afterlife with her husband Hades. His realm includes all of the afterlife including the Elysian Fields.

Herakles is an asshole and should not have been included.

Dionysus is the god of wine, however you got to watch out for his groupies cos they might rip to pieces so that you're just a singing head for millennia.

Morpheus is the god of sleep, and he had a child with Calliope one of the muses whom they named Orpheus.

Mnemosyne is the goddess of memory, and the mother of Calliope and her sisters also called the muses.

In between hitting people with the dodgeball and turning women into trees, Apollo drives his chariot across the sky from dawn till dusk.

In between turning dudes into deer and driving her chariot across the sky from dusk till dawn, Artemis is the goddess of the hunt and patron and protector of single women.

Eris is is goddess of chaos, and should not be invited to any weddings.

Hestia is the goddess of the hearth and the home, and most importantly is in charge of fire.

Athene who had no mother but burst fourth full grown from Zeus's brow is goddess of strategy and she and Ares fucking hate each other like a whole lot.

Hephaestas was wed to Aphrodite but she cheated on him with Ares. Her son Eros the god of love is mostly famous for falling in love with Psyche, and then failing to protect her from his mother until the 11th hour.

The Fates are in charge of the whole ball of wax. they spin the thread, they weave the thread into the tapestry of time and existence and then they cut the thread when it has run its course. they're almost always betrayed as a triple goddess: maiden, mother, crone. Their names are Clotho the spinner, Lachesis the weaver, and Atropos who has the scissors and therefore the last word. Literally.

Another triple goddess motif are The Kindly Ones or the Erinyes, whose job it is to meet out justice. so if you spill family blood, you end up on their shit list. Their names are Alecto, Tisphone, and Megaera. They are fucking hardcore, and people in their crosshairs generally referred to them as The Furies.

I'm leaving out a lot. like a lot a lot. What's important to know is that these whackos were more inbred than the Habsburgs, and most human beings either tried to bribe them with sacrifices in their temples, or just stay the fuck out of their way because the gods do not care about anybody except the gods.

Also if you were really good with snakes and hit with the dodgeball of prophecy, as an Oracle your job was to tell people shit they don't want to know so that in trying to avert fate they'll end up creating the very situation they were trying to avoid.

One way that people tried to stay the hell out of the way was by becoming clergy. Unfortunately, when you dedicate your life to the service of one of the gods, this also put you in their crosshairs way too often particularly as Apollo thinks he is God's gift and is constantly recruiting lovers from his own temples. And if you said no, he just might curse you with that goddamn dodgeball with the kicker that no-one will ever believe you, which is what happened to Cassandra.

Even wise Athene would go off her head and turn you into a spider if you pissed her off. Pretty much the only dude that I can think of out of this entire bunch of miscreants who has never hurt anybody is Hestia. Which is probably why they leave her off the list all the time even though she is Hera and Demeter's sister and therefore one of the most powerful of the gods.

Anyway now you're all caught up! Go out there and read about Zeus having sex with way too many people occasionally while wearing a fursuit. And don't say you haven't been warned.

this website’s easy watch. *dangles a bunch of greek gods like keys*

[muletia]

So. I just read the whole ‘optimus gets minified’ and I have to ask...

May I request one for Pedraking?🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇

— 🩷

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐥. 𝟐 ༘⋆✿

predaking, ratchet, smokescreen ↳ all are obsessed with you btw

word count: 1300

you used the word “request” and I am currently not accepting them, but!! I love this concept and couldn’t resist adding two other characters…

Oh, no, he absolutely hates it

Predaking has no idea how this even happened. He went into recharge curled protectively around you, shielding you from the world and sharing his warmth, only to wake up small, confused, and utterly incapable of performing the one task his entire existence revolves around: protecting you

So how is he supposed to stay calm? How is he supposed to keep his cool when he’s defenseless? His strength, height, and power — all his greatest assets — have been stripped away. Without them, he can’t be a worthy mate for you. He wouldn’t dare even call himself that anymore. You don’t need a plushie; you need a strong partner, ready to push away any intruder and eliminate anyone who so much as approaches your love nest. In this form, he can’t offer you any of that. He can’t fulfill a single promise he made to you, which leaves him caught between fury and a crushing sense of inadequacy

But why aren’t you panicking? You look surprised, sure, but not terrified, even though you should be! You’re currently defenseless! What if someone decides to steal you away from him? And why are you cooing like he’s a sparkling and reaching out toward him? Oh, you want to pet him...

He won’t make it easy. Startled by your actions, he’ll jump away from you, insisting he doesn’t need your affection right now and that you should hold off until you figure out a solution to this mess.

But he has to stay by your side. He has to protect you, even in this form. He has to be braver, fiercer, compensating for his lost size with sheer determination. No, he won’t leave you for even a second. He’ll protect you with his entire body if necessary

So he returns to you and tries to block the entrance to your love nest, though at his current size, it’s far from impressive. Standing with his back to you, hawk-eyed and focused on the doorway, he doesn’t notice your hand snaking toward his helm. When it rests there and starts stroking, he freezes

Predaking will still try to resist. He’ll growl and brush off your affections, but with every stroke of your hand, his defiance melts away. Boldness gives way to an overwhelming need to be close to you, and soon there’s nothing left of it as he wags his tail, eagerly demanding more pets

It’ll take a long time before he remembers that he’s supposed to protect you 24/7, fully content to bask in your attention and curl up on your lap. Even your constant comments about how sweet and adorable he is stop bothering him surprisingly fast

Still, he will never accept being miniature. Being spoiled by you is undeniably delightful, but Predaking needs absolute certainty that he can defend you from hostile bots. He’ll keep searching for a way to undo this, but until then, you can enjoy your giant, adorable lap dog <3

If Predaking hates his situation, Ratchet downright loathes it

You’ve never heard so much grumpy complaining as during the size-change incident

How can humans live like this? It’s uncomfortable, impractical, weak. You can’t reach anything, the world feels so enormous. Anyone could step on you (payback for his own words, I guess), and you’re so fragile and delicate

And then there’s your behavior toward him. He doesn’t want to be treated like a sparkling. He doesn’t want your cooing and constant repetition of how adorable he is and how much you want to smother his entire faceplate with kisses (although, deep down in his spark, that’s the one thing he truly craves, as betrayed by a subtle blue blush)

He doesn’t know when you got it into your head that he needs your constant care. He can handle himself and intends to work tirelessly until he finds a way to undo this farce. Sure, he’s five times smaller, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost all his competence. He doesn’t need a nanny — especially one who keeps interrupting his work with comments about how adorable he is

But Ratchet is also a hypocrite because, truthfully, he does need you. The sudden shift in perspective is terrifying. Giants become behemoths; they loom over him, threatening to crush him. It’s easy to feel microscopic and overwhelmed, not hard to spiral into panic and uncertainty as wild thoughts conjure up visions of being stepped on. In those moments, Ratchet needs you by his side. He needs to grab onto the hem of your shirt, to feel that you’re there, that everything is okay. You won’t leave him or let anything harm him

Of course, once the fear subsides and Ratchet feels comfortable again, he reverts to his independent and grumpy self, but he’ll stop trying to push you away. He’ll appreciate your presence, even if he never really wanted you to leave him in the first place

The constant work will exhaust him quickly, especially in such a small and frail form, and then he’ll instinctively seek you out. He’ll choose the perfect moment when no one else is in the base, find you on the couch, and climb onto you, ignoring all your questions and comments. He’s tired, doesn’t know how to fix this, and needs you. Let him at least have a few kliks of napping in arms that surround him with safety

You can even kiss his forehead. After all, it’s only fair to repay all the kisses you’ve received from him, so he can feel for himself just how wonderful they are <3

Oh, and imagine a mini jealous Ratchet. He doesn’t like that you’re spending so much time talking to some young bot when you were supposed to be helping him, so he feels the need to take action and drag you away. But he’s so tiny and not at all intimidating that his “rival” can’t take him seriously... especially when he tugs at your clothes like a grumpy sparkling

Oh, so now he can be with you 24/7? Fantastic!

This entire situation is incredibly convenient for him. Sure, at first, he was a bit terrified and downcast that he couldn’t be the perfect partner for you, but he quickly discovered countless benefits to being minified

First and foremost, he gets to accompany you everywhere. He doesn’t leave your side, becoming your shadow. Even at his normal height, he tried to spend every free moment with you, but as a mini version, he’s with you always

Bathroom breaks? Smokescreen follows you, clutching onto the hem of your shirt (you’ll need to explain to him that just because he can fit in there with you doesn’t mean he should)

Feeling like stretching your legs after sitting too long and showering him with affection? He toddles after you, mimicking your every move

Taking a stroll around the base? Definitely not alone.

He’ll drain your energy before evening comes. Since he’s shrunk down to the size of a sparkling, why not act like one to get what he wants?

Need a break from his constant presence and his unique talent for never shutting up? Well, you’re going to have a huge problem because simply interrupting a cuddling session already spells trouble. Trying to untangle yourself from his limbs while avoiding sharp edges of his armor, Smokescreen sprawls across your torso, pinning you to the couch. And even when small, he’s shockingly heavy, effectively trapping you in place. Now you can continue your cuddling and smooching session

He won’t feel a shred of shame or hesitation in using his charm, either. He knows perfectly well that you find him adorable, so he’ll use his big, puppy-like optics to manipulate you to his advantage — for example, to get another round of being carried in your arms

But the most affectionately unbearable he gets is when you need to leave the base. You can’t leave him alone! What if someone steps on him? Or he gets lost in the hangar? You have to stay by his side (forever) at least until Ratchet can fix him. Smokescreen has no qualms about clinging to your leg if it means keeping you near. And no force will pry him off until you say you’ll stay the night <3

[linkcharacter]

Love the difference from how Jimmy rejects the pills aggressively while it’s implied in canon Curly just tries to keep his mouth closed rather than hurt anyone. I also love how Curly thanks Jimmy for letting him help vs Jimmy complaining that he had to in canon despite never really being an asked more than once and talks down to Curly.

It’s an interesting difference in how they both take the duty from Anya where Curly is def trying to salivate her of having to take care of Jimmy due to every pre-crash and the guilt but also because that is his friend still. Just comparing it to Jimmy who only does it cause he needs to feel useful and asserting himself as more capable than Anya.

I know you likely wanna keep it vague or open to interpretation but since Curly acknowledged the pills aren’t doing much for Jimmy do you think he’s genuinely doing it just cause it does something even if little for Jimmy or to ease his mind? Sort of like how the crew mainly gives Curly his pills to keep him quiet and more so how Jimmy does it cause Curly’s sobs def mess with his crippling repressed feelings of guilt.

Very interesting how it differs. Also love how you still didn’t show the actual feeding of the pill

Oh yes the differences :) The whole time I was making the comic the 2nd audio of Jimmy feeding Curly the pills kept spinning in my brain. And yes, I didn't show the actual pill feeding, the game doesn't show it visually, so I didn't think there was a reason to do it here.

You are correct, I would like to keep it vague. It's interesting how you interpreted Curly's comment on the pills as just him thinking they aren't doing much for Jimmy, and I'm not saying it's wrong, but I see (and put) a couple of different meanings for his thoughts' text, all of which are valid, this one included.

As to why Curly gives him the pills, I'd say it can be both reasons at once. Curly does want to help, but he also wants to feel like he's helping. The thing about Curly is that he prioritizes doing what his own sense of righteousness dictates as doing the right thing, whether or not it's a smart or a helpful decision or not. Like how he decided to tell the crew about them losing their jobs. It wasn't a smart nor a productive decision, all it did was make the crew stressed and brought the morale down for the rest of the 8 months they were supposed to haul. But it was what Curly saw as 'what a good person would do', 'what a friend would do', that he "can't keep this form them all" because it gnawed on his conscience. He didn't consider consequences of telling upsetting news to his crew, or if he did, they didn't outweigh the importance to do right by his crew to Curly. To him it was the 'less scummy' way to go about it, the one that didn't leave Curly feeling like a bad person for "deceiving" his friends. But he means well at the end of the day too, he doesn't want his friends to feel betrayed, feel like they've been kept in the dark. He doesn't want to use his special treatment as a Captain while his subordinates are worse off than him.

And here with Jimmy, Curly wants to do his best to ease whatever pain his friend is in, but he also doesn't want to force him into anything because that would make Curly feel like he's undermining Jimmy's autonomy, whether or not Jimmy by himself would make a decision on medical treatment that was 'best for him', and whether or not the pills do jack shit at all. Curly tries to do good by everyone, because he genuinely wants to help and because he feels that doing a helpful thing is what he 'should' do. Curly's a complicated guy and it all comes down to what you personally consider as 'genuine want to help' and whether or not, to you, the actions a person takes matter more than the intentions behind them.

Thank you for your comments, as always very discussion engaging, I love it!!

[mephisto-reporting]

A Work of Art: With Rafayel

Plot: Rafayel wants to go swimming with you but your insecurities have other plans. Based on this request Pairing: Chubby! reader x Rafayel Note: Rafayel and reader are not in a relationship but there is an implied mutual attraction. Content warning: insecurities, self depriciation, body image issues, angst (hurt-comfort).

Sylus version: More to love |

It was another scorching day in Whitesand Bay, the heat wrapping itself around everything like a heavy blanket. Rafayel’s studio, though large and open, was still stifling, the heat seeping in through the windows, making it nearly unbearable. Yet, his energy remained constant, almost too infectious. He bounced around the space, flitting between his easel and a pile of freshly painted canvases, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” he teased, leaning against his easel with that insufferably cocky grin. “Thinking about me, aren’t you? Go on, admit it.”

You rolled your eyes, masking your discomfort with a half-hearted laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, moving closer until he was just a breath away. “Oh, but I don’t need to, cutie. You already do it for me.”

You watched him from your spot, marveling at his effortless grace. He was in his element, his dusky purple hair falling into his face as he dabbed at the canvas with a brush. Occasionally, he’d glance back at you, a sly smile curving his lips.

“You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “you’d make the perfect muse. Why don’t you let me paint you sometime?”

You laughed softly, a sound you hoped didn’t betray the nervous flutter in your chest. “I don’t think I’d sit still long enough for you to finish.”

Rafayel turned, raising a brow in mock disapproval. “Nonsense. You’re perfect just as you are. Besides, I think I’d enjoy the challenge of capturing your essence.”

It was always like this with him. Playful. Flirtatious. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, even though you’d seen firsthand how easily he dismissed others. People fawned over him—his talent, his charm, his looks—but Rafayel never seemed interested. Yet with you, he was different.

But you couldn’t help the doubt that lingered in the back of your mind. What if this was just his way? You wanted to believe he was just being playful, that he didn’t mean it the way your heart desperately wished he did. Because how could someone like him—a vision of elegance and charisma—see someone like you in any other way?

You crossed your arms, tugging the fabric of your shirt tighter around you, as if it could shield you from his gaze. Rafayel always had a way of looking at you like he was trying to peel back layers, like he saw something you couldn’t. And it terrified you.

And then there was your body. Stretch marks, rolls, flabs. All the things you tried so hard to hide. Around Rafayel, you were especially self-conscious, always careful to cover up, to deflect attention away from yourself. He was an artist, after all, a man who revered beauty in all its forms. Surely, someone like him couldn’t find someone like you truly beautiful.

“Earth to you,” Rafayel’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you blinked up at him to find him staring at you, his hands on his hips.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, offering a weak smile.

“Sooooo, are you ready?” Rafayel called out, glancing over his shoulder at you. He leaned against the doorframe with that devilish grin of his—flirtatious and yet utterly carefree. You glanced up from your position by the window, attempting to push the self-doubt creeping into your chest as he beckoned you over.

“Ready for what?” you muttered, not eager to engage. The last thing you wanted was to deal with another one of Rafayel’s whims.

“A swim, cutie.” he declared, his voice light and teasing. “The ocean's calling us, don’t you think?”

You stiffened, already feeling the weight of the impending conversation. Swimming. Bathing suits. He’d see more of you. That thought alone sent a wave of panic rushing through you. No, I can’t—

“I—uh, I don’t know…” You trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. "I’m just not feeling it today."

“Oh come on,” he pouted, pushing away from the doorframe with exaggerated dismay. “It’s way too hot, and we could both use a break. Besides, I promised we’d do something fun today.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to avoid looking at him too long. What if he looks at me differently? Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. You’d been covering up around him for so long, hoping he’d never notice the things you tried so hard to hide.

“I don’t have my swimwear with me,” you quickly said, the excuse feeling weak as the words left your mouth.

Rafayel raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean you don’t have it? I’ll buy you one at the boutique down the road. They’ve got everything.” His voice was laced with amusement, but you could feel a twinge of impatience creeping into his words.

Your heart skipped a beat. No, no, no. I can’t do that. Not with him seeing me like that…

“I’m just… not really in the mood, Rafayel,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze. “You go ahead, I’ll just...Keep you company on  the beach.” You swallowed, your palms growing clammy. “I… I don’t feel like it. Maybe another time.”

“Another time?” he echoed, his tone flat. Then his voice softened, laced with curiosity. “What’s going on with you, really?”

“I said I’m not in the mood—”

“Don’t lie to me.” he interrupted, his playful demeanor gone. His gaze was sharp, piercing, as though he could see every thought running through your mind. “What’s wrong?”

The dam broke before you could stop it.

“I just… I can’t, okay? I don’t want you to see me like that!” The words tumbled out, fast and frantic. Your breathing hitched as panic clawed at your chest. “I’m… I’m fat, Rafayel. I have stretch marks, rolls, flab—whatever you want to call it. And you… you’re you. You’re perfect. Handsome. And you flirt with me, but that’s just who you are, right? You wouldn’t actually—how could you? Look at me!”

Your voice cracked, tears welling in your eyes. You couldn’t stop now, even if you wanted to. “People like you don’t see people like me. Not really. And I don’t blame you, because who would want to? I’m not beautiful. I’m not anything. I’m just…” You trailed off, choking on the lump in your throat. “I am a whale. A big whale. People would look at us and wonder what someone like you is doing with someone like me. And you’re an artist! You see beauty everywhere, but what happens if you look at me and realize I’m—”

“Stop.”

The single word cut through your spiraling thoughts like a blade, sharp and unyielding. You froze, choking back a sob as you dared to meet his eyes. When you finally dared to look at him, Rafayel’s expression startled you. His playful smirk was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. His jaw was tense, his hands clenched at his sides. He looked… offended. No, furious.

“Are you done?” he asked, his voice low, trembling with restrained emotion.

You nodded, your heart sinking. Of course, he was angry. Why wouldn’t he be? You’d made a fool of yourself, ruined whatever fragile dynamic you had with him.

“Come with me.” He stretched out his hand, his movements sharp, deliberate.

“What?”

“Come. With. Me.” he repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Hesitant, you placed your hand in his. His grip was firm, almost too tight, as he led you across the studio to a corner you’d never paid much attention to. A cluster of canvases sat there, each covered in white cloth.

Without a word, Rafayel grabbed the edge of one cloth and yanked it away.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It was a painting. Of you.

Not an embellished version of you, not some idealized fantasy, but you as you were. Your stretch marks, your curves, every detail you hated about yourself—it was all there. But somehow, in his brushstrokes, it was beautiful. They weren’t altered. They were you. Raw, honest, and breathtakingly beautiful. You were beautiful. The woman in the painting looked almost like an ethereal goddess, with all the features you’d tried to hide—your soft curves, your round face, the way your body naturally flowed—on full display. You barely recognized the figure, as if it wasn’t you at all.

There you were, sitting by the window, the sunlight kissing your skin. There you were again, lost in thought, your features softened by a dreamy expression. In another, you were laughing, your smile radiant, your body draped in soft fabrics that celebrated every curve, every line, every part of you that you had always tried to hide.

“This,” Rafayel said, his voice breaking the silence, “is how I see you. Do you even hear yourself?” His voice was low, trembling with an intensity you hadn’t expected. “You think I’d look at you—you—and see anything less than perfection? You think I’d waste my time on someone who wasn’t worth every second of it?”

You turned to him, your lips trembling. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Every brushstroke, every color—I poured myself into these because I wanted to capture you. You. Not some distorted version of what the world says you should be. You, with your stretch marks, your rolls, your everything. Do you know how beautiful you are to me?” He uncovered another, and another. Each one a masterpiece, each one of you.

“This,” Rafayel said, his voice rough with emotion, “is how I see you. Not some distorted version of yourself you’ve convinced yourself I’d be ashamed of. This.”

Each one, a depiction of you—each angle, each pose, each moment captured with breathtaking beauty. You stared at the paintings in disbelief. He hadn’t changed anything about you. He hadn’t smoothed over the imperfections, hadn’t tried to make you look like someone else. He had captured you, exactly as you were, and in a way that made you look… beautiful. You were beautiful in every stroke, every shade of color he had used.

He stepped closer, his gaze softening as he looked at you, still reeling from the revelation.

“This is how I see you,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. His fingers brushed against your cheek, almost reverently. “As for this… whale business? Humans like to forget that whales are majestic creatures. Powerful. Graceful. They’ve been admired for centuries, not ridiculed. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Fishes come in all shapes and forms, and yet are beautiful. As are you. Your shape, your insecurities do not blemish your beauty in my eyes, they enhance it.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. “I… I didn’t know.”

He gave you a small smile, that same devilish grin now softened with something far deeper. “In Lemuria, you’d be worshipped. Not shamed. You are beautiful, just the way you are, and I’m not going to let you forget that. You deserve to be seen, really seen, for all the beauty you have to offer. Every inch of it.”

You turned to face him, your vision blurry with tears. “You really think...?”

“I don’t just think it,” he interrupted, cupping your face with both hands. “I know it. In Lemuria, you would be the most beautiful woman to exist. Sought after. The very definition of beauty. And even if the entire world disagrees, it doesn’t matter, because to me, you are a work of art. And no matter what or who I paint, nothing could ever compare to you.”

His thumb brushed away a tear that rolled down your cheek. “So don’t ever insult yourself like that again. And stop hiding from me. Stop hiding from the world. Because you’re perfect exactly as you are. Understand?”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

Rafayel smiled then, soft and genuine. “Good. Now, about that swim...”

You laughed through your tears, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a little lighter. A little more... beautiful.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

[womenclature]

I’m so sick of men trying to enter women’s spaces. I was on a “women’s only” Discord for a few months only to discover it was run by and populately mostly by mtf men, who were all pretending to be real biological women. I felt very betrayed. To me, the connection and understanding developed between (biological) women is sacred and inimitable. Mtf trannies are undermining that connection daily. They are infiltrating female communities and ruining all sense of trust and camaraderie between real biological women. Ultimately, this corrupts and decimates female communities. In any scenario, there is never a good excuse for destroying bonds between *innocent humans who relate and connect with one another. (Particularly if they are not harming anyone by assembling.)

People need to be honest about who they are. Let mtf trannies hang out with other mtf trannies in their own specialized groups. If they truly believe that mtfs are indistinguishable from women, then it should make no difference to them if they are in mtf-only communities.

We must maintain biological-female-only spaces and support the creation of new ones. Doing this is not anti-trans. This is pro-woman.

~~ Side tangent about #radfem,

as I add tags to my post for improved visibility: I don’t understand why I have to self-identify as “radical” feminist in order to uphold this perspective. What about me is radical? Particularly, what about my feminist views are radical? Nothing, I think. To me, in order to earn the monkier “radical,” I would have to say “death to all men” or “men should not vote” or “only women should be in leadership positions,” none of which I support. I would argue it is only the queer community, in order to undermine me, who pointed at normal feminists and dubbed us “radical.” So why and when did normal feminists accept this renaming? Why is it all of a sudden “radical” to support and defend the gender I was naturally *born with*? The trans community's total inversion and perversion of physical reality is the true radicalism. Nothing is more radical than denying what is clearly observable right in front of us. “Don’t believe what your own eyes tell you,” the queer community urges us over and over again. Queers and trans people, like many people in general, want badly to feel loved, to feel special, to feel understood – and I feel sorry for them (I am not without compassion, unlike those who would dub me “radical” would have you believe). However, their attacks and disenfranchisement of cis/non-trans people, especially women, is never going to get them the support they want. If queers and trannies want so much to be “left alone to live their own lives,” then they need to stop screaming at and trying to change everyone else. Until that day comes, there will always be people who loathe them.

"We just want to live ours lives" /s

[hobbitkiller]

“What happened to rebel Vi? Season 2 destroyed her character!”

“What happened to rebel Vi” is that Vander took her to the bridge where her parents died in his revolution and asked her what she was willing to lose. Then she meets Cait who is gentle and kind while still being tough and it makes her rethink how she sees topside. When Jinx tells her she changed too, that’s what she’s talking about.

I’m sorry if you thought Vi was going to be a topside-hating revolutionary in Season 2, but that’s clearly not where her character arc was going. Remember how she forced her way between Ekko and Cait? It seemed very straightforward that was the role her character was taking on.

I feel similar about people who act like the show was betraying its premise because it ended with reconciliation/Zaun and Piltover working together. Again, the fact that two of the most important relationships were between characters from both sides and that they made a point of talking about Zaun and Piltover first coming together against a common enemy was a pretty clear indicator that was the plan.

Now, I get being annoyed that that was what they chose to do. You don’t have to love the creative decisions of media, just like media doesn’t have to compromise its creative direction to satisfy you. But not liking that they went that direction is not the same as the show having bad writing or engaging in character assassination.

Everything Vi did in season 2 was very much in character with how she changed and who she became throughout Season 1. Hell, she used enforcers and Hextech to raid Shimmer facilities before Commander Kiramman ever threw on a beret. So, yes, actually wearing the uniform was a huge and complicated decision that she was definitely not happy about, but it also fell in line with what she had been doing.

There’s meat for another post at some point about the three different Zaun/enforcer partnerships we see in the show: Vander/Greyson, Silco/Marcus, and Cait/Vi; but I’m not going to go into that now.

TLDR: “Rebel Vi” who wants to fight all of topside hasn’t existed since the end of the second episode of the show.

Editing to add that Vi doesn’t see attacking Chem Barons as attacking Zaun; she’s taking down the people who are destroying Zaun.

[aspenmissing]

Oneshot Request: Imagine, Jayce has a younger sister (age gap of 2-3 years) and he ships Sis Reader x Viktor sooo badly. Like, he tries everything, that these two finally become a thing. When Sis Reader x Viktor are after a looong slow-burn-romance-thing in a relationship, Jayce switches from the supportive, older brother to the "Hurt my baby sister and I throw you of the bridge". What would Sis Reader and Viktor too stunned to speak xD

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜᴍᴀᴋᴇʀ

ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ!ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ!ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 2530 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴄᴏᴄᴋʙʟᴏᴄᴋ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ (ꜱᴏʀᴛᴀ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀɴᴏɴ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ

Jayce had always been a meddler. Y/N had known this better than anyone, having grown up with him constantly poking his nose into her business. Viktor, too, had quickly learned this once he and Jayce began working together. But neither of them could have foreseen just how far Jayce would go when he decided they should be together.

It started subtly enough—small comments here and there.

“Hey, Y/N, did you know Viktor’s favourite tea is chamomile? You should bring him some next time you’re in the lab. He’d love that.”

Or, “Viktor, don’t you think my sister’s the perfect blend of brains and beauty? Honestly, if she weren’t my sister, I’d set her up with my best friend. Oh, wait—that’s you!”

Y/N would groan, cheeks aflame, while Viktor shifted uncomfortably, his grip on his cane tightening as though it might shield him from Jayce’s relentless teasing. But Jayce didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down.

He began orchestrating scenarios to throw them together. “You two can handle this project alone; I’m swamped,” he’d say, conveniently forgetting to show up for their meetings. He hosted dinners and somehow always managed to seat them next to each other. He even pulled blatant stunts like disappearing mid-lunch with a wink and a mumbled, “You two need some alone time.”

“Jayce, this is getting ridiculous,” Y/N hissed at him one evening as they sat at a dinner he’d arranged, her seat—of course—right next to Viktor’s. Jayce shot her an innocent grin that fooled absolutely no one.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied smoothly, though the mischievous twinkle in his eye betrayed him.

Meanwhile, Viktor tried his best to remain neutral, though the faint blush creeping up his neck was impossible to miss. He’d never been one for open displays of affection, but being caught in the orbit of Jayce’s scheming made things more complicated than they needed to be.

It wasn’t as though they didn’t like each other. In fact, Y/N and Viktor’s connection ran deep. They shared quiet moments in the lab, bouncing ideas off one another late into the night. Viktor appreciated Y/N’s sharp mind and her unwavering kindness, and Y/N admired Viktor’s brilliance and the depth of his character. Their bond was undeniable, built on a foundation stronger than even the most advanced Hextech core.

But there were obstacles. Viktor hesitated, fearful that his health and the demands of his work would burden her. Y/N, for her part, worried that crossing the line from friendship to romance might jeopardise everything they’d built. And so, they tiptoed around their feelings, hesitant to take the leap.

Jayce, however, was having none of it.

One day, Jayce stormed into the lab with the determination of a man on a mission. “Alright, that’s it!” he declared, startling both Y/N and Viktor, who had been quietly working at opposite ends of the room. “You two like each other. Everyone knows it. Just admit it already!”

They froze, wide-eyed and completely caught off guard, Viktor nearly dropping the tool in his hand while Y/N slowly turned to glare at her brother.

“Jayce, this is hardly—” Viktor began, his voice tinged with discomfort, only to be cut off.

“I’m not leaving until you confess,” Jayce announced, crossing his arms and planting himself firmly in the centre of the lab like an immovable object.

“Jayce!” Y/N’s voice was a mix of embarrassment and exasperation. “You can’t just—”

“Confess!” he demanded dramatically, pointing between them like he was officiating a duel.

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath, while Viktor nervously adjusted his grip on his cane. The two exchanged a quick glance, a silent conversation passing between them in the space of a heartbeat.

Finally, Y/N let out a long sigh and folded her arms. “Fine. You want the truth?”

Jayce straightened, his grin triumphant. “Yes, finally!”

She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her options, before shrugging. “We’re already dating.”

The room fell silent, and for a moment, it was as if Jayce hadn’t fully processed what she’d said.

“You’re… what?” he finally sputtered, his grin faltering.

“Dating,” Viktor repeated softly, though his tone was more resigned than triumphant. He glanced at Y/N, then back at Jayce, as if bracing for an explosion. “For a while now.”

Jayce blinked, his gaze darting between the two of them. “Wait. How long is ‘a while’?”

Y/N exchanged another glance with Viktor, who gave a tiny shrug. “Not that long,” she hedged. “Just… a few months.”

“A few months?” Jayce’s voice shot up an octave. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Exactly,” Y/N said with a pointed look, “because of this.” She gestured to the dramatic scene unfolding around them. “Do you know how unbearable you’d have been if we’d told you straight away? You’d have taken all the credit!”

“Of course I would’ve!” Jayce said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because it’s true! I’ve been trying to set you two up for ages!”

“That’s precisely why we didn’t tell you,” Viktor said, his voice dry but laced with a hint of amusement.

Jayce’s jaw dropped, his hands flying to his hips. “So you mean to tell me that I did all the work, and you two didn’t even have the decency to let me gloat about it?”

“We were sparing ourselves the torment,” Y/N replied flatly.

Jayce groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable. All this time, I’ve been orchestrating the perfect set-up, and you were already together.”

“Well, not everything revolves around you,” Y/N teased, unable to hide her smirk.

Jayce stared at her, then at Viktor, before finally throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fine. Fine! But I’m still claiming partial credit for this.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”

“And,” Jayce added, his tone suddenly serious as he stepped closer to Viktor, “now that I know, let me make one thing perfectly clear.” He placed a heavy hand on Viktor’s shoulder, his gaze narrowing. “If you hurt my baby sister—even by accident—I will throw you off the bridge. Are we clear?”

Viktor froze, his grip tightening on his cane as his lips parted in stunned silence. “I… Yes, of course,” he stammered.

“Jayce!” Y/N exclaimed, shoving her brother aside. “What is wrong with you?”

“What?” Jayce said defensively. “I’m just making sure he knows the rules.”

“Your rules are insane,” Y/N shot back, though her voice lacked any real heat.

Viktor, still processing, looked between the two siblings, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “I appreciate… your concern,” he said carefully, his voice tinged with dry humour.

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is exactly what we were trying to avoid.”

Jayce just laughed, his smug grin practically lighting up the room. “You can’t avoid me forever. And hey, now I get to say I was right all along!”

One evening, Y/N and Viktor were in her flat, quietly enjoying the rare tranquillity of each other’s company. They were cuddled up on the sofa, Viktor’s arm draped loosely over her shoulders while she rested her head against his chest. The soft glow of the lamp lit the room in a warm, golden hue, casting long shadows that danced gently across the walls. A forgotten cup of tea sat on the coffee table, its steam now dissipated as the pair lost themselves in the quiet comfort of the moment. Viktor’s slender fingers traced absent patterns along Y/N’s arm, his touch soothing and familiar, while she smiled softly, her eyes fluttering closed.

The peace shattered as the door burst open without warning.

“Oi, you two better be dressed!” Jayce bellowed, covering his eyes dramatically with one hand as he stormed in, his heavy footsteps echoing across the room.

Y/N jolted upright in alarm, nearly elbowing Viktor in the ribs in the process. “Jayce! What the hell are you doing here?” she shouted, glaring at her older brother.

Viktor, who had been startled but managed to maintain his composure, arched a brow and deadpanned, “Perhaps next time, you could try knocking? Just a suggestion.”

Y/N snorted at Viktor’s sarcasm, but her frustration returned as Jayce peeked through his fingers with a smirk.

“Relax,” Jayce said, lowering his hand with an exaggerated sigh of relief when he saw they were fully clothed. “Just doing my duty as a protective older brother. Wouldn’t want to accidentally walk in on something scarring.”

“Jayce!” Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I cannot believe you.”

Jayce, grinning ear to ear and clearly unbothered, strutted over to the sofa like he owned the place. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he plopped himself down between them, making himself comfortable as the sofa sank under his weight. Y/N and Viktor, now separated, exchanged equally exasperated looks.

“What’s up, lovebirds?” Jayce asked casually, slinging an arm along the back of the sofa and stretching out with an air of smug satisfaction.

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Jayce, seriously? Don’t you have your own flat to bother people in?”

Ignoring her entirely, Jayce turned his attention to Viktor. “So, Viktor,” he began, his grin widening, “how’s it going? Treating my baby sister right, yeah?”

Viktor leaned back slightly, his expression both amused and weary. “I was under the impression that I am, though I’m sure you’ll correct me if I’m mistaken.”

“Good man,” Jayce said with a nod, clapping Viktor on the shoulder. “Because if you don’t…” He leaned in with mock seriousness. “You know what happens.”

Viktor tilted his head, his tone dry. “Let me guess—‘the bridge’?”

Jayce’s grin turned positively wicked. “Exactly! You’re catching on. I like that.”

“Jayce,” Y/N snapped, shoving him in the side with her elbow, “leave. Now.”

“Not until I’m satisfied,” Jayce replied smugly, refusing to budge.

Y/N sighed heavily and leaned back against the sofa, folding her arms. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re were cuddling,” Jayce pointed out with mock horror, waving his hand between the two of them. “What happened to ‘no PDA in front of me’?”

“Oh well I'm sorry that I wasn't expecting you to barge in here!” Y/N shot back, her voice rising in frustration.

Jayce shrugged nonchalantly. “Details, details.”

Viktor, now fully embracing the absurdity of the situation, chuckled softly. “He does make things… lively, I’ll give him that.”

“Don't encourage this,” Y/N muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose as Jayce stretched out even further, looking far too pleased with himself.

“What can I say?” Jayce said with a self-satisfied grin. “I’m the perfect mix of annoying and lovable. You’re welcome.”

Y/N groaned audibly, slumping back against the cushions. Viktor turned to her, his lips quirking into a faint smile before glancing back at Jayce. “So this is part of dating her, I take it?” he asked, his voice dry with amusement.

“Oh, absolutely,” Y/N said, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “Welcome to the chaos. You’ve been warned.”

Jayce leaned forward, clapping Viktor on the back again with a grin. “You’re basically family now, Vik. Get used to it.”

“Lucky me,” Viktor murmured, his words edged with dry humour, though the warmth in his voice was unmistakable. He shot a sideways glance at Y/N, catching the faintest glimmer of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh, her head resting comfortably against Viktor’s shoulder. She closed her eyes for a moment, soaking in the rare, peaceful serenity of their quiet evening, before speaking in a soft, almost resigned tone. “You’re never going to let us have a peaceful evening, are you?”

Jayce, unfazed by the irritation in Y/N’s voice, leaned back with a smirk plastered on his face, the twinkle in his eye as mischievous as ever. “Not a chance. I personally do not wanna be an uncle just yet,” he said dramatically, folding his arms over his chest as he settled even more comfortably on the couch. “And I’m sure Mama doesn’t want to be a grandmother either,” he added with a wink, as though the suggestion of the future was an absurdity he found utterly amusing.

Despite her earlier frustration, Y/N couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at her lips. She shook her head in disbelief, her eyes flicking briefly to Viktor, who had to fight back a grin of his own at Jayce’s antics. As maddening as her older brother was, Y/N couldn’t help but be amused by his antics. His chaotic, overbearing nature, his complete disregard for personal boundaries—it was all familiar, and in its own way, endearing. This was Jayce, the one who’d always been there, pushing her buttons, teasing her endlessly, yet somehow making everything feel... just a little brighter. Infuriating, sure, but undeniably hers.

“Are you done?” she asked, though her tone had softened, and her eyes were starting to glint with a fondness she couldn’t quite suppress.

Jayce, entirely unperturbed, leaned back even further, his arms casually draped across the back of the sofa as though he owned the place. “Not a chance,” he replied cheekily. “I’m just making sure you two know what you’re getting into.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her head

sinking back against Viktor’s shoulder again as she let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “I swear, you’re like a shadow that never leaves.”

Jayce’s grin only grew wider as he leaned forward slightly, looking at her with a knowing glint in his eye. “You love it, admit it. No one’s ever bored when I’m around.”

Y/N sighed again, but there was no real heat behind it this time. “I swear, Jayce, you should’ve been a plague. No one can get rid of you.”

“Don’t think of me as a plague,” Jayce said dramatically, his hand pressed to his chest in mock hurt. “I prefer ‘your ever-loving, annoyingly good-hearted older brother.’”

Viktor, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, raised a brow and gave Jayce an amused, exasperated look. “I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on what I’m getting into,” he replied dryly. “I’ve been warned.”

Jayce leaned in, lowering his voice as if imparting a secret. “It’s not just a warning. It’s a life sentence.”

Y/N groaned in mock defeat, now fully resigned to the fact that Jayce was here to stay. “This is my life now, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” Jayce confirmed with an exaggerated nod, looking overly pleased with himself. “And don’t you forget it.”

Viktor chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement as he looked over at Y/N. “You really didn’t warn me enough, did you?”

She gave him a playful eye roll. “You really thought I could prepare you for this?”

Jayce stretched out dramatically, his legs sprawling across the couch, as if making himself even more at home. “You’d be surprised how adaptable you get. I’m like the chaos you can’t escape.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. Even if she’d never admit it aloud, she wouldn’t change her chaotic, overbearing family for anything.

[chrisstvrns]

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐦𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜.𝐬.

warnings: unresolved angst, secret pregnancy, breakup, abandonment, decision of being a single mother, please let me know if i missed anything! 

word count: 3,333

part one | part two | part three | part four

oh, you were so excited. since you were a little girl you dreamed of being a mother. and when you started dating chris six years ago, you knew you wanted him to be there with you. you wanted to grow old with him, raise kids with him and watch your grandchildren grow up.

and now here you were, standing on the front porch of chris’ childhood home in boston, barely standing still as you anxiously yet excitedly fiddle with your rings. buried deep in your spacecamp wellness tote bag was the biggest secret, that in this moment, nobody besides you and God knew of. 

you had texted chris, telling him that you needed to talk. within seconds, he answered, agreeing with you. you didnt know what he needed to talk about, but you had to tell him. 

you knock on the door, the door immediately being opened by chris, who had a serious look on his face. you reach for his hands, gently taking them in yours. 

he gives you a weak smile, pulling you close as he kisses your forehead, leading you inside. you walk into the living room, flashing nick and matt a quickly smile as they hurry out of the room, odd looks on their faces as they leave you and chris alone to talk in the now quiet house, since his parents had gone out. 

“okay, so. i need to tell you something.” you reach for chris, who ignores your reaching arms, sitting next to you, a bit of a distance between you as he buries his face in his hands. 

you knew how he was. when chris got like this—quiet, tense, distant—it meant something was weighing heavy on his heart. something he’d been thinking about for a long time, probably rehearsing how to say it in his mind for days, if not weeks. your chest tightened as you watched him, his elbows propped on his knees, fingers threading through his hair like he was trying to steady himself.  

"chris?" your voice came out softer than you expected, your excitement from moments ago quickly being replaced by a gnawing pit of dread. you reached out again, but he didn't look at you. his silence said more than words ever could.  

he sighed, dropping his hands and finally meeting your eyes, and that look—God, that look—hit you like a punch to the stomach. his eyes, usually so warm and full of love, were clouded with guilt and something else you couldn’t quite place. regret, maybe.  

"i—" he started, then stopped, his jaw tightening. "i don’t even know how to say this." his voice cracked on the last word, and you could feel the tears welling up in your own eyes, unbidden, your throat tightening in response.  

"chris, just say it. whatever it is, we can figure it out, okay?" you tried to sound steady, but your voice wavered, betraying the panic clawing at your chest.  

he shook his head, leaning back and running his hands through his hair again. "i don’t think we can figure this out. that’s the thing," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  

your stomach dropped.  

"what... what are you talking about?" you asked, even though you already knew. you needed him to say it, to rip the band-aid off, even if it would tear you apart.  

he looked at you then, really looked at you, and the pain in his eyes was almost unbearable. "i can’t do this anymore," he said finally, his words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last.  

your hands fell into your lap, your heart shattering into a million pieces. "what do you mean? you... you can’t do us anymore?"  

chris nodded, swallowing hard. "i’ve been thinking about this for a while," he admitted, his voice raw. "and i hate myself for it, but... i think it’s better if we end things now before we hurt each other more."  

"hurt each other?" you echoed, your voice trembling. "chris, what are you even saying? we’re not hurting each other. i love you."  

"and i love you too," he said quickly, his voice breaking. "but sometimes love isn’t enough. i feel like i’m holding you back, like i can’t give you what you deserve. you deserve someone who... who’s better at all of this than i am."  

you shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "that’s not true. you’re everything to me. why are you doing this?"  

he reached for your hand then, and you almost pulled away, but you couldn’t. even now, even as he was breaking your heart, you craved his touch.  

"because i don’t want to be the reason you lose yourself," he said, his voice steady now, like he’d convinced himself that this was the right thing to do. "i’ve seen it happen before, and i can’t let it happen to you. i love you too much for that."  

you opened your mouth to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that this was a mistake, but the words wouldn’t come. deep down, you could see that his mind was made up. the stubbornness that you loved about him was now the thing that would tear you apart.  

chris stood, his hand lingering on yours for a moment before he pulled away. "i’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "you have no idea how much this hurts me."  

“chris, stop. you.. you cant do this, not now..” you whisper, youre heart breaking as he stands up, beginning to walk away.

you softly chase after him, reaching for his arms, tearing streaming down your face. he faces you, gently taking your hands in his. 

“i love you, baby. so much. but im doing this because i love you. i see the hate you get from my fans, and it kills me. it kills me so fucking much knowing that i cant do anything to stop it, no matter how many things i say to them. "and that's why i can't let this keep happening," chris said, his voice cracking as he looked down at your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your trembling fingers. "you don’t deserve any of this. you don’t deserve to feel like you have to fight for your place in my life. none of it’s fair to you."

your chest tightened, and the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over. "but chris, i don’t care about any of that. the fans, the hate, the comments... none of it matters to me. you’re what matters. you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered."

he let out a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold back his own tears. "but it should matter, baby. you say it doesn’t, but i see it. i see how it wears on you. you’ve stopped posting your art, stopped sharing the things you love because you’re scared of what they’ll say. i see how you smile less. and i can’t... i can’t live with knowing that i’m the reason for that."

"you’re not the reason for it," you argued, your voice desperate, shaking. "those people don’t even know me, chris. they’re just looking for someone to blame because they can’t have you for themselves. that’s not on you. that’s on them."

he shook his head, his grip on your hands tightening. "it doesn’t matter if it’s on them. it’s still happening because of me. and the longer we stay together, the worse it’ll get. you think it’s bad now? it’s only going to get harder. i can’t stand the thought of you going through that for me."

you felt your knees weaken, like the weight of his words was pressing down on you, suffocating you. "but don’t you see, chris? you’re worth it. we’re worth it. i don’t care how hard it gets, i’ll fight for us. i’ll fight every single day if it means i get to keep you."

his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked at you, his expression torn between love and heartbreak. "and that’s what kills me the most," he whispered. "you shouldn’t have to fight for us. love isn’t supposed to be like this. it’s supposed to be easy, and safe, and full of joy. and i... i can’t give you that right now. not the way you deserve."

"you’re wrong," you said, your voice barely audible, your heart breaking with every word. "love is worth fighting for. you’re worth fighting for."

he gently starts walking you toward the door, the fight to not cry visible on his face "you don’t understand, baby. this is me fighting for you. this is me trying to protect you from everything that comes with loving me. i don’t want you to look back in a few years and resent me for all the pain you went through just to be with me."

"i could never resent you," you said, your voice firm despite the tears streaming down your face. "never. you’re everything to me, chris. please, don’t do this. don’t throw us away because of something we can get through together."

he closed his eyes, his head bowing like he couldn’t stand to see the pain in your eyes anymore. "i’ve already made up my mind," he said softly, and those words hit you like a knife to the chest. "this is the hardest thing i’ve ever had to do, but i’m doing it because i love you. because i want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me."

"you are my happiness," you cried, your voice breaking. "don’t you get that? you’re all i need."

"and you’re all i’ll ever love," he said, his voice heavy with finality. "but sometimes love isn’t enough."

he leaned in and kissed your forehead one last time, his lips lingering there as though he was trying to memorize this moment, to etch it into his memory forever. when he pulled away, you saw the tears streaming down his face, and it shattered you even more.

"i love you. im sorry" he whispered, his voice trembling as he softly pushed you out of his front door, his heart heavy with regret 

you stood there, frozen, your entire world crumbling around you as you watched him slam the door in your face. your hand instinctively went to your tote bag, clutching it like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. the secret you had been so excited to share—the little piece of him you were carrying, the piece of both of you—was now a weight you didn’t know how to bear alone.

"chris," you called out one last time, your voice a broken sob as you hoped he’d open the door again "please. the baby.." you whispered, your voice barely audible, a plea that hung heavy in the air.

but he didn’t say come back. he didnt open the door. you heard his footsteps get farther away, meaning hes going up to his bedroom, leaving you alone with nothing but memories of the past six years, the echo of his absence, and the secret you hadn’t been able to tell him. 

you stood there, staring at the door that had just closed in your face, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp. the cold, boston air of january nipped at your cheeks, but it didn’t register. all you could focus on was the weight in your chest, the ache that had settled there as you stared at the house in front of you.  

chris’ house. the house where it all began.  

your eyes drifted to the porch below you, the same porch where you’d sat together as kids, eating popsicles in the summer and talking about everything from your favorite cartoons to your wildest dreams. you remembered how he’d teased you about the way you always peeled the wrappers off your popsicle sticks, how his laughter had filled the air and wrapped around you like the warmest embrace.  

your gaze lingered on the window to the living room. you could almost see the two of you, years ago, sprawled out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between you, arguing over which movie to watch. he always let you pick in the end, even when he pretended not to care about the cheesy rom-coms you loved so much.  

and the backyard… God, the backyard. you could still picture the two of you running around barefoot, him chasing you with water balloons until you tripped and fell into the grass, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. it was in that backyard where he’d kissed you for the first time, his lips brushing against yours so softly you thought you might’ve imagined it. but you didn’t. it had been real. and it had been everything.  

now, those memories felt like ghosts, haunting you as you stood there, clutching your tote bag like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. how could he do this? how could he shut the door on everything you’d built together? on all the years, all the love, all the promises whispered under the stars?  

your eyes drifted to his bedroom window, and your heart clenched. you remembered sneaking in and out of that room, climbing the trellis late at night when you just couldn’t stand being apart for another second. the way he’d pull you into his arms the moment you made it inside, his voice low as he whispered, “you’re crazy for doing this, you know that?” but his smile always told you he didn’t mean it.  

now, the window was dark. no light, no sign of him. just an empty, hollow void where he used to be.  

you took a shaky breath, your hand instinctively going to your stomach as the weight of your secret pressed down on you. how could you have been so excited just moments ago? how could you have thought this was going to be the happiest day of your life, when now it felt like your world was ending?  

tears blurred your vision, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. you stood there, rooted to the spot, as if leaving would somehow mean letting go of everything. of him. of the life you’d imagined together.  

your mind replayed his words over and over, each one cutting deeper than the last. “i can’t do this anymore… you deserve better… this is me fighting for you…”  

you wanted to scream, to bang on the door until he opened it and let you in. until he saw that you were still standing there, ready to fight for him, for you, for everything you’d built. but you knew it wouldn’t change anything. his mind was made up.  

and so you stayed, your feet frozen to the porch as you stared at the house that held every memory you’d ever shared with him. the house that had once felt like home.  

but now, it felt like a stranger’s. cold, distant, and unreachable. just like him. 

yet, back in the house, chris was a wreck. he broke up with you. he was sitting on his couch, face buried in his hands as nick makes his way back downstairs 

“did you.. do it?” nick asks, sitting next to his brother. 

chris couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. his hands trembled as they covered his face, tears streaming through his fingers. he nodded weakly, barely able to get the words out.  

“yeah,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “i did it.”  

nick let out a low breath, leaning back against the couch as he crossed his arms. he didn’t say anything right away, just studied his brother with a mix of pity and frustration.  

“and how do you feel now?” nick finally asked, his voice cautious, careful not to push too hard.  

chris shook his head, his hands dropping to his lap as he stared blankly at the coffee table. “like shit,” he admitted, his voice raw. “like i just ripped my own heart out.”  

nick frowned, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “then why’d you do it? if it’s tearing you up this much, why push her away?”  

chris sighed, dragging his hands through his hair. “because she deserves better,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “she deserves a life without the hate, without the constant pressure of being with someone like me. she says she’s fine, but i see it, nick. i see how it’s breaking her, and i can’t… i can’t keep doing that to her.”  

nick studied him for a moment, his brows furrowing. “and you think this is what’s best for her?”  

“yeah,” chris said, though his voice wavered, as if he wasn’t entirely sure himself. “i mean.. it has to be. right?”  

nick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, man, i get it. you think you’re protecting her, and maybe you are in some ways. but breaking her heart? breaking your own heart? that doesn’t sound like protection to me. it sounds like you’re running away.”  

“i’m not running away,” chris snapped, his voice rising before he quickly deflated, his shoulders slumping. “i’m not. i just.. i love her too much to keep putting her through this. i don’t want her to hate me one day because of all the shit that comes with being with me.”  

nick tilted his head, his expression softening. “and what if she never would? what if she meant it when she said you’re worth it?”  

chris shook his head, his eyes welling up with tears again. “it doesn’t matter. i made my decision. it’s done.”  

nick leaned back, letting out a long breath as he watched his brother unravel in front of him. “you’re stubborn as hell, you know that? but you’re also an idiot.”  

“thanks, nick,” chris muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  

“no, seriously,” nick said, leaning forward again. “you’re sitting here, miserable as hell, and she’s probably out there feeling the same way. and for what? because you think you know what’s best for her? maybe—just maybe—you should’ve let her decide that for herself.”  

chris didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stared at the floor. nick sighed, standing up and giving his brother a pat on the shoulder.  

“you’re gonna regret this, chris,” nick said quietly, his voice laced with a mix of sympathy and frustration. “and when you do, I hope it’s not too late to fix it.”  

nick walked away, leaving chris alone on the couch, the silence of the house pressing down on him like a weight. he sat there for what felt like hours, replaying the moment he’d closed the door in your face, the sound of your voice—broken, desperate—echoing in his mind.  

“please. the baby…” 

the words hit him like a freight train, and he shot up from the couch, his heart racing.  

“the baby?” he whispered to himself, his mind scrambling to make sense of it. had he heard you right? had you really said…  

panic set in as the realization washed over him. if what you said was true, then he hadn’t just broken your heart—he’d walked away from something so much bigger, so much more important.  

without thinking, chris grabbed his keys and bolted out the door, his chest heaving as he searched the street for any sign of you. but you were gone.  

“damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he paced the porch. he needed to find you. he needed to know if what you said was true, to explain himself, to tell you he’d made a mistake—a huge, life-altering mistake.  

but deep down, he feared it was already too late. 

he goes back into the house, now pacing his kitchen, periodically sipping from a can of pepsi. 

“could’ve jus’.. yeah, she could’ve just been callin’ me ‘baby’, i mean, she always did.. shes not.. theres no way, she cant be..” he rambles, running his hand through his hair, his whole body nearly shaking. 

you? you were already back home, crying your eyes out in bed as you held the test in your hand. were you really going to raise this baby on your own?

────────────୨ৎ────────────

a/n: nearly threw up writing this

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

find other parts of this series here

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

⋆˙⟡ tags: @lvrsturniolo @marrykisskilled @mattscoquette @emely9274 @wh0remikasas @mattsstarlet @pvssychicken @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @jvngle18 @sturns-mermaid @mattslolita @lolastrniolo @55sturn @oliviasthatgirl @hannahsturns @dykes4chris @y3sterdaysproblem @bernardsbendystraws

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (to let go)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the hopeful

- Next part: the feast

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis

The Sept of Baelor was heavy with silence, the kind that seemed to seep into the bones and weigh down the soul. The flickering candlelight cast specters on the marble walls, illuminating the somber faces of the Seven carved in stone above. At the center of the Sept, Joffrey Baratheon’s body lay on a slab of white marble, his golden crown resting beside him. His once-smirking face was now cold and lifeless, his lips tinged with blue.

Jaime stood a few steps away from the bier, his gaze fixed on his son—no, the king. He forced himself to think of Joffrey as the king, as he had always been told to. But the boy lying there wasn’t just the king. He was also the child of his and Cersei’s forbidden union, the boy who had grown into something monstrous under their watch.

Cersei stood at the head of the bier, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles white. Her golden hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at her son’s lifeless form.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said finally, her voice low but cutting. She didn’t turn to look at him, her gaze fixed on Joffrey’s face.

“This is my place as much as it is yours,” Jaime replied, his tone calm but firm.

Cersei let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Your place? You abandoned your place the moment you left the Kingsguard. The moment you decided that she was more important than us.”

Jaime tensed, his jaw tightening. “Don’t do this, Cersei.”

“Do what?” she snapped, finally turning to face him. Her green eyes blazed with fury, and the grief etched into her face only made her anger more potent. “Speak the truth? If you had been where you were supposed to be, if you had done your duty, Joffrey would still be alive.”

He stared at her, unflinching. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” Cersei hissed, stepping closer. “You left us, Jaime. You left me. For what? For her? For some pathetic notion of redemption? You’ve betrayed everything we were for a Stark—a Stark, of all people!”

“This isn’t about her,” Jaime said, his voice rising slightly.

“Isn’t it?” Cersei shot back. “You think I didn’t see the way you couldn't keep your gaze away from her? And now, you’ve abandoned everything we’ve built for her. You’ve made yourself weak.”

Jaime took a step closer, his golden hand glinting in the candlelight as he pointed it toward her. “You don’t get to blame this on me, Cersei. Not this time.”

“Why not?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “Everything else is your fault. Why not this too?”

“Because Joffrey wasn’t killed because I left the Kingsguard,” Jaime said firmly, his voice cold. “He was killed because he was a monster. And that wasn’t my doing, Cersei. That was ours.”

The words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, Cersei was silent, her chest heaving with the effort to contain her rage. Her eyes darted to Joffrey’s body, and for a fleeting moment, her face crumpled with grief. But she quickly masked it, turning her fury back on Jaime.

“You’re a coward,” she spat. “You’ve always been a coward, hiding behind that armor of yours. But now? Now you don’t even have that. You’re just a broken man clinging to a girl who will never love you.”

Jaime’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze steady as he met her glare. “And what does that make you, Cersei? A queen who’s lost her kingdom, her son, and her grip on reality? Blame me all you want, but it won’t bring him back. And it won’t change the fact that you’ve destroyed everything you’ve touched.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the silence between them thick and suffocating. For a moment, it seemed as though Cersei might strike him, her hands trembling at her sides. But instead, she turned away, her shoulders trembling as she faced Joffrey’s body once more.

“You don’t understand,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve never understood what it’s like to be powerless. To watch everything you love slip through your fingers.”

Jaime took a step closer, his voice softer now. “I understand more than you think.”

Cersei didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on Joffrey’s lifeless face. The room felt colder, the weight of grief and anger pressing down on them both.

After a long moment, Jaime turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the vast space of the Sept. The golden hand at his side felt heavier than ever, a constant reminder of the things he had lost—and the things he was still trying to hold on to.

But as he stepped into the fading light of the afternoon, Jaime couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of clarity. Cersei’s accusations stung, but they no longer cut as deeply as they once had. The strings that had bound him to her for so long were fraying, and he was beginning to see the shape of a life beyond her—a life he wasn’t sure he deserved, but one he couldn’t stop himself from wanting.

And for the first time, he didn’t look back.

The dungeons of the Red Keep were damp and suffocating, the air thick with the stench of mildew and decay. Jaime descended the steps slowly, his hand brushing against the rough stone railing as he made his way toward his brother’s cell.

He hadn’t wanted to come here. Seeing Tyrion like this felt wrong, unjust, and it stirred something bitter in his chest. But he had to see him, to hear from the man himself what had truly happened at Joffrey’s wedding.

When Jaime reached the iron bars of Tyrion’s cell, his brother was seated on a crude wooden bench, his hands resting casually on his knees. Despite his predicament, Tyrion looked remarkably composed, his eyes gleaming in the low light.

“Ah, brother,” Tyrion said, his voice dripping with mock cheerfulness as he leaned back against the wall. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Come to see the family disgrace wallowing in filth?”

Jaime ignored the jab, his expression neutral as he stepped closer. “I came to see how you’re holding up.”

Tyrion let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, splendidly, thank you. The accommodations are as luxurious as ever, and the company…” He gestured to the empty space around him. “…absolutely riveting.”

Jaime’s lips twitched into a faint smirk despite himself. “You’ve always had a way of making the best of things.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyrion said with a flourish. “A talent I inherited from our dear father, no doubt. Speaking of whom, I hear he’s been busy planning your grand wedding.”

Jaime stiffened slightly, but Tyrion pressed on, his voice laced with mock sincerity. “I must apologize, brother. It seems I won’t be able to attend. A shame, really. I’m sure Tywin’s been dreaming of this day for years—his golden son marrying the last Stark. A union to secure the North further and stroke his ego all at once. How wonderful.”

Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t what I wanted, Tyrion. Not like this.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his tone softening slightly. “No? Then what do you want, Jaime? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re letting Father pull your strings just as easily as he pulls mine, now that you accepted to be his heir.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. “This isn’t about me. Or you. It’s about what’s best for the realm.”

For her. But the words stopped in Jaime's throat.

“The realm,” Tyrion repeated with a bitter chuckle. “Yes, of course. Father’s favorite excuse. Tell me, Jaime, do you really believe that? Are you just trying to convince yourself that you’re still the honorable one in this family? Or are you are still pretending not to have feelings for the daughter of late Eddard Stark?”

Jaime didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “You didn’t poison Joffrey.”

Tyrion’s smirk faded, his expression hardening. “No. I didn’t.”

“And neither did Sansa,” Jaime added, meeting his brother’s gaze.

Tyrion leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re certain of that?”

Jaime nodded. “She’s gone. Disappeared from the Keep after the feast. If she were guilty, she wouldn’t have fled without a word. Someone helped her escape.”

Tyrion exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall once more. “Gone, you say. I suppose that’s for the best. She’s safer away from here, away from Cersei.”

Jaime frowned, stepping closer to the bars. “Tyrion… who do you think did this?”

Tyrion let out a low, bitter laugh. “Oh, take your pick, brother. The list of people who wanted Joffrey dead is long and distinguished. Perhaps we should start with his dear, grieving mother. Or maybe his loving grandsire, who saw him more as a liability than an asset.”

Jaime’s frown deepened, but he said nothing.

“Don’t look so shocked, Jaime,” Tyrion said, his voice softening. “You’ve always known what this family is capable of. You just never wanted to admit it.”

For a moment, Jaime felt the weight of those words settle heavily on his shoulders. Tyrion’s accusations weren’t entirely baseless, but Jaime couldn’t bring himself to believe that Cersei or Tywin would stoop to something like this—not with Joffrey, at least.

“I’ll find out the truth,” Jaime said finally, his voice firm. “And I’ll make sure you’re not punished for something you didn’t do.”

Tyrion tilted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Ah, the noble Jaime Lannister. Always trying to do the right thing, even when it’s too late. But thank you, brother. For whatever that’s worth.”

Jaime nodded, turning to leave, but Tyrion called after him.

“And Jaime?”

He paused, glancing back.

“If you ever figure out what you actually want, I hope it’s worth the trouble you’re going through for it.”

Jaime didn’t respond, his footsteps echoing softly as he made his way back up the stairs, the weight of his brother’s words lingering with him long after he’d left the dungeons.

The room was small and dimly lit, a faint haze of smoke curling in the air from a nearby lantern. The soft shuffle of cards broke the quiet, followed by the occasional clink of a goblet against the wooden table. You sat across from Bronn, your expression unreadable as you studied your hand. Jaime sat beside you, his golden hand resting heavily on the table, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he watched the game unfold.

Bronn leaned back in his chair, his usual swagger on full display as he swirled the wine in his goblet. “Not bad, Stark,” he drawled, glancing at you over the rim. “But I wouldn’t get too comfortable. I’ve been known to wipe out entire armies at this game.”

You didn’t even look up, your tone dry as you placed a card on the table. “That’s funny. I didn’t know armies played cards.”

Jaime chuckled softly, earning a stern glance from Bronn. “Careful, Lannister,” Bronn warned, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “Your little bride-to-be’s got a sharp tongue.”

You finally looked up, fixing Bronn with a withering stare. “And you’ve got a big mouth. Pity neither one will win you this game.”

Bronn blinked, clearly caught off guard. He opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out, leaving him uncharacteristically speechless. Jaime leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the exchange as his smirk widened.

“Well, this is new,” Jaime said, glancing at Bronn. “You’ve actually managed to render him silent.”

Bronn recovered quickly, raising his goblet in mock salute. “Well done, my lady. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t think you had the ability to think at all,” you replied smoothly, placing another card on the table. “Seems we’re both full of surprises.”

Jaime laughed, shaking his head as he reached for his own goblet. “You’re wasting your time, Bronn. She’s not easily impressed.”

“Clearly,” Bronn muttered, his gaze narrowing at you before turning to Jaime. “I’ve got to say, you’ve got strange taste in women, Lannister.”

Jaime’s smirk faltered slightly, though he recovered quickly, his tone casual. “And yet here you are, sitting across from her, trying to win her favor.”

“I’m just here for the game,” Bronn said, raising his hands defensively. “And the wine. The rest is just entertainment.”

You rolled your eyes, returning your focus to your cards. “If this is your idea of entertainment, I pity the company you keep.”

Bronn barked a laugh, leaning forward as he placed his cards on the table. “I like her,” he said to Jaime. “She’s got fire.”

Jaime glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “She certainly does,” he said quietly.

You caught the look and frowned, shifting in your seat as you addressed him. “What am I doing here anyway with the two of you? Don’t you have better things to do than sit in a smoky room losing at cards?”

Jaime leaned forward to met your gaze. “Father’s orders,” he said simply. “He wants me to keep an eye on you. Especially after what happened to Joffrey.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you placed another card on the table. “Of course. Tywin Lannister, ever the vigilant warden. Tell me, does he think I poisoned Joffrey as well, or am I just a convenient excuse for his paranoia?”

Jaime’s smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s paranoid about everyone.”

Bronn laughed again, pouring himself more wine. “Well, if you’re stuck with him, Stark, you might as well make the best of it. Could be worse, you know.”

“Could it?” you replied, raising an eyebrow as you glanced between the two of them. “I’m not so sure.”

Bronn opened his mouth to reply, but you held up a hand, cutting him off. “And before you say anything, yes, it could be worse. I could be married to you.”

Jaime nearly choked on his wine, coughing as he laughed. Bronn stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You’re brutal, Stark. I’ll give you that.”

“I try,” you replied with a faint smirk, turning back to your cards.

The game continued, the banter flowing easily between the three of you. Despite yourself, you felt a small flicker of amusement at Jaime’s exasperation and Bronn’s failed attempts to rattle you. For a moment, the weight of your circumstances seemed a little lighter, though you knew it wouldn’t last.

But for now, you allowed yourself to enjoy the rare reprieve, even if it came at the expense of the two men seated across from you.

The mood in the room shifted subtly as Jaime leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his face fading into something more contemplative. He swirled the wine in his goblet absently. After a moment, he cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“There’s something else,” Jaime said, his tone unusually subdued.

You placed your cards down, leveling him with a skeptical look. “Let me guess—another Lannister edict I’m meant to obey without question?”

He quirked an eyebrow, his lips twitching faintly. “You’re not entirely wrong. Tywin has started preparations for a feast.”

Your frown deepened. “A feast? For what? Joffrey’s funeral was hardly three days ago.”

Jaime hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly to Bronn, who raised an eyebrow in silent curiosity. “For our betrothal,” Jaime said finally.

The words hung in the air like an unwelcome specter, the weight of them pressing down on the room. You stared at him, your expression caught between disbelief and anger.

“A betrothal feast?” you repeated, your voice steady. “So soon after Joffrey’s death? Is your father so eager to celebrate while the rest of the city mourns?”

Jaime sighed, setting his goblet down with a faint clink. “You know my father. He doesn’t waste time on sentiment. This is about securing alliances, appearances, and ensuring the realm sees stability.”

Bronn leaned forward, his grin faint but amused. “He’s not wrong, Stark. Lannisters don’t dawdle, especially when it comes to marriage. They’ve already got a new king to crown, too—young Tommen. And you’d best believe they’re moving quickly to tie up every loose end.”

You folded your arms, your gaze narrowing at Jaime. “Tommen’s to be crowned already?”

Jaime nodded, his expression guarded. “Soon. Father’s made it clear that there’s no time to waste. The realm needs a king, and Tommen…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “Tommen’s a good boy. He’ll be a better king than Joffrey ever was.”

Bronn chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Not a high bar to clear, is it? And then there’s Margaery. The queen widowed twice over but still determined as ever to keep her crown.”

You turned to Bronn, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Bronn smirked, gesturing vaguely. “Oh, she’s not wasting time, that one. Already making eyes at the little king, I hear. Determined to go three for three in royal husbands.”

Jaime shot him a warning look. “That’s enough, Bronn.”

“What?” Bronn said, shrugging. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. The Tyrells didn’t come all this way to leave empty-handed. Margaery’s no fool—she’ll do whatever it takes to secure her position.”

You snorted softly, leaning back in your chair. “Of course she will. And why not? It seems to be the way of things in King’s Landing—scheming, marrying, and killing your way to the top.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached for his goblet, taking a slow sip before speaking. “It’s not always like this,” he said quietly. “Or at least, it shouldn’t be.”

You glanced at him, noting the faint shadow of regret in his eyes. “And yet, here we are,” you said pointedly.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of the conversation settling over the three of you. Bronn broke the tension with a low chuckle, leaning forward again.

“Well, Stark,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “Looks like you’re in for quite the celebration. A grand feast, a shiny new betrothal, and a front-row seat to all the madness this city has to offer. Should be fun.”

You gave him a withering look, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can hardly wait.”

Jaime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bronn, maybe you should focus on the cards instead of stirring the pot.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bronn quipped, tossing a card onto the table with a grin.

You shook your head, returning your attention to the game, though your thoughts lingered on Jaime’s words. The idea of a feast in your honor felt absurd, especially with the weight of recent events pressing down on the city.

Still, a small, defiant part of you wondered how much chaos you could cause before Tywin Lannister’s perfectly laid plans unraveled.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet as Jaime escorted you back to your chambers. His steps were unhurried, his demeanor unusually light. He walked beside you, his golden hand resting casually at his side, and every now and then, he glanced your way with a faint smirk.

“You know,” Jaime said, breaking the silence, “I should probably be careful around Bronn.”

You raised an eyebrow, not bothering to look at him. “Why is that?”

“Because he might try to steal you away,” Jaime replied, his tone laced with amusement. “He seemed quite taken with you during that game. I’ve never seen him so… speechless.”

You scoffed, your tone dry. “Bronn isn’t the type to ‘steal’ anything unless it’s worth a considerable amount of gold. I assure you, I’m far from his idea of treasure.”

Jaime chuckled softly, his smirk widening. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ve got a way of leaving an impression, whether you mean to or not.”

You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with irritation. “If this is your idea of flattery, Lannister, it’s as unimpressive as your swordsmanship with your left hand.”

He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense, the gesture only accentuated by his golden prosthetic. “You wound me, my lady. And here I thought we were finally getting along.”

“Getting along?” you repeated, giving him a sidelong glance. “Let’s not get carried away. Tolerating your presence is a far cry from liking it.”

Jaime laughed, the sound softer and more genuine than you expected. “Tolerating is a start. I’ll take what I can get.”

You didn’t reply, your gaze fixed ahead as the corridor stretched into shadows. Despite yourself, you couldn’t entirely ignore the faint warmth in his tone, the way his usual sharpness had softened around the edges. It was… disarming, and you hated that it unsettled you.

When you finally reached your chambers, two Lannister guards were already posted outside, their expressions stoic as they stood at attention. Jaime slowed to a stop, turning to face you fully as you approached the door.

“Well,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I suppose this is where I leave you for the night.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “How gallant of you.”

Jaime smirked faintly, stepping closer, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your stomach twist—not entirely unpleasantly, though you refused to admit it. “You know,” he said, his tone softer, almost hesitant, “you surprised me tonight.”

You frowned slightly, your guard instinctively rising. “How so?”

“You didn’t bite my head off as much as I expected,” he said with a faint chuckle. “I might even dare to say you enjoyed yourself, if only a little.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your tone sharp. “Don’t mistake tolerance for enjoyment, Jaime. This doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to entertain this farce willingly.”

His smirk faltered slightly, though his gaze remained steady. “I know,” he said simply, his voice quieter now. “But… it’s nice to see you without your walls up, even if it’s just for a moment.”

Your chest tightened, the unexpected sincerity in his tone catching you off guard. For a fleeting second, you thought you saw something raw in his eyes—something vulnerable. But you quickly pushed the thought aside, straightening your posture.

“Don’t read too much into it,” you said curtly, stepping toward the door.

Jaime nodded, stepping back as you reached for the handle. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly.

You paused, glancing back at him briefly before opening the door. “Goodnight, Jaime,” you replied, though your tone was more neutral than warm.

As the door closed behind you, Jaime stood there for a moment. Despite your words, despite your warning, he couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of hope.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

The chambers Jaime now called his own were vast and ornate, the sort of luxury befitting the heir to Casterly Rock. Yet, as he lay awake in the massive bed, staring at the carved canopy above him, the grandeur felt hollow. The gold-threaded curtains, the fine linens, and the roaring fire in the hearth offered no comfort.

His golden hand rested on his chest, its cold, unyielding weight a stark reminder of what he’d lost. The stump where his hand used to be ached faintly, a dull throb that seemed to echo the turmoil in his mind. He flexed his left hand absently, as though trying to remind himself that he was still whole in some way.

Jaime sighed, turning his head to look at the window. Moonlight streamed through the glass, casting pale patterns on the stone floor. The city beyond was quiet, but his thoughts were anything but.

He’d spent his entire life as Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the golden lion of Casterly Rock. The son who had defied his father’s wishes, who had stood at the side of kings and queens, wielding his sword with confidence and precision. He’d been many things, but he had never imagined himself as this: a lord, a husband.

The thought made his stomach twist.

Jaime had never wanted to be Lord of Casterly Rock. That role had always been Tywin’s, looming over him like a shadow, the unrelenting standard against which he’d always been measured. And now, with Tywin’s decree, the title was his to inherit. He would oversee the Westerlands, the mines, the bannermen. He would bear the weight of the lion’s legacy, a burden he had spent most of his life avoiding.

But it wasn’t just the title or the lands that haunted him. It was the marriage.

You.

Jaime turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he stared into the flames of the hearth. He thought of your wit, your unyielding defiance, the fire in your eyes that never seemed to dim. You were nothing like the women he’d grown up around—nothing like Cersei.

And that was what unsettled him most of all.

Cersei had been his constant, his twin, his other half. Their bond had been unbreakable—or so he’d thought. But now, as he lay in this unfamiliar bed, he found himself thinking less of her and more of you. He still wasn't sure what he felt. But it was something, something he couldn’t quite name.

He thought of the way you’d looked at him earlier, your eyes full of anger and defiance. Even now, you refused to yield, to let him in. And yet, there had been moments—fleeting, fragile moments—where your guard had slipped, and he had seen something else. Something softer.

Could he truly be a husband? The idea felt foreign, almost laughable. Jaime Lannister, the husband. Jaime Lannister, the father. He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

The door creaked open slightly, and Jaime turned his head, his muscles tensing. A servant stepped inside, bowing deeply before speaking.

“My lord,” the servant said quietly. “Do you require anything before the night’s end?”

Jaime shook his head, his tone curt. “No. Leave me.”

The servant bowed again and retreated, the door clicking softly shut behind them.

Jaime leaned back against the pillows, exhaling slowly. The silence of the room was oppressive, pressing down on him like a physical weight.

For years, he had lived without thought for the future, content to be the sword at someone else’s side. Now, the future loomed before him, uncertain and vast. He thought of Casterly Rock, the sprawling fortress he had left behind so many years ago. He thought of his father, of Tywin’s cold, calculating gaze as he handed down orders that would shape the rest of Jaime’s life.

And he thought of you.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth as Jaime closed his eyes, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jaime Lannister dared himself to wonder if there might be something beyond the Kingslayer. Something worth fighting for.

[gs29]

A Little Jealous

Squid Game Master list

The apartment was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon, the kind of quiet that only came when the baby was napping. The sound of the baby monitor hums faintly in the background, a soft reminder that their little one—who was still too young to understand how precious these moments were—was blissfully unaware of just how much his parents were falling in love with him every single day.

You were in the kitchen, moving about the space with a peaceful air, humming softly to yourself as you prepared dinner. He had settled into the living room, leaning back on the couch, the weight of his thoughts momentarily suspended in the calm that surrounded him. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to fully relax, but with you and their son, he felt at peace in a way he’d never thought possible.

The baby, however, was the true source of his heart’s contentment. He had only been awake for a few minutes from his nap, and you’d already brought him into the living room, cradled carefully in your arms. The little one, barely more than a few months old, had already started babbling more, and each day seemed to bring something new. A smile, a giggle, a new sound. He had no idea how much those sounds meant to him until now.

"Look at him," you said softly, as you sat beside him on the couch, the baby wriggling happily in your lap. You smiled as you stroked the baby’s hair, watching him babble as his chubby little hands grabbed at the air. He made cooing sounds, blissfully unaware of the world around him, his eyes shining with excitement.

Your voice, tender and full of affection, made him glance over. You spoke again, holding the baby up a little so he could see his father. “Say ‘mama,’ baby,” you coaxed gently. The baby let out a gurgling sound in response, and your smile grew wider. “That’s right, mama,” you said softly, as if the word alone made your heart swell.

And then it happened.

The baby, with wide eyes and an expression of complete joy, managed to form a sound that was unmistakable. It wasn’t dada—the word he had been so desperately hoping for—it was mama.

His heart gave a little jolt. Mama? His eyes widened slightly, and for a brief moment, he froze.

You, oblivious to his sudden shift in mood, were smiling down at their son, cooing at how adorable it was. “That’s right, baby! Mama! Say mama, you’re such a smart little boy.”

Meanwhile, Gong yoo who had been sitting with a proud, expectant smile, suddenly felt a little… well, not exactly betrayed, but jealous. He shifted in his seat, trying to keep his reaction under control.

The baby gurgled again, as if to confirm his new achievement, and the salesman couldn’t help himself. “Wait, wait—hold on a second,” he said, leaning closer, trying to hide the hint of playfulness that had already crept into his voice. “He just said mama, but what about dada?” He shifted his weight on the couch, suddenly leaning in toward the baby, his voice turning a little exaggerated in mock frustration. “Come on, little one. Dada, say dada. Dada’s here too!”

The baby looked up at him, his bright eyes wide with curiosity. He stared for a moment, processing his father’s face, then turned back to you with a happy gurgle and cooed again.

“Mama,” the baby repeated, much to the salesman’s chagrin.

He blinked, his eyebrows furrowing for a split second. “I mean… really?” He glanced up at you, trying to hide the playful hint of disappointment on his face. “Are you sure he’s saying mama? He can’t possibly be skipping straight to mama, right? It’s dada time.”

You laughed softly, the sound comforting as you gave him a gentle look. “Oh, I’m sure. He said mama, didn’t you hear him? He’s just so smart.” You paused, looking at their son with adoration. “Of course, he’s smart. He gets it from me.”

The salesman rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, of course,” he teased. “Your genius brain. Well, okay, little guy.” He leaned back, adopting a mock-serious tone. “Let’s try this again. Dada. Come on, dada. Dada’s got you.” He reached out, gently cupping the baby’s cheek with his hand, smiling at the little one.

But the baby just cooed and, with an almost dramatic sense of defiance, repeated, “Mama.”

The salesman could only stare in disbelief. “Are you serious?!” His voice was almost a whisper, full of mock shock, and his playful frustration grew. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for months now. I even let you sleep in my arms. I fed you.” He shifted in his seat and pointed to you. “And you—you’re already the favorite.”

You chuckled, your smile softening with affection. “I don’t think he’s picking favorites just yet.”

But the salesman, clearly putting on a dramatic show, crossed his arms and looked down at the baby with an exaggerated pout. “Fine. Fine. If you don’t want to say dada, that’s fine. I’ll just be over here, plotting my revenge.”

You laughed at his antics, brushing a hand through his hair. “You’re being dramatic. He’ll say it when he’s ready.”

He gave you a teasing side-eye before leaning in closer to the baby again. “I’ll be here, waiting,” he said, his tone light but full of playful determination. “I’m not giving up.”

The baby gurgled happily, his eyes wide and curious. And again, he said, almost like a song: “Mama.”

The salesman sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, though there was no mistaking the fondness in his voice. He leaned over and kissed the top of the baby’s head. “Alright, I’ll let you have this one. For now.”

You smiled lovingly at both of them, your heart swelling at the sight. "He’ll say dada soon enough,” you said with a laugh. “Just be patient.”

But as the baby cooed again, and the salesman gave one last exaggerated sigh of disappointment, he couldn’t help but laugh too. He knew this moment, however small it seemed, was one he would treasure forever. And when his son did finally say dada, it would be all the more special for the little drama that had led up to it.

[reingkings]

Gi-hun can’t hold grudges, and what that means for Inhun/457.

I was thinking of this the other day. I myself don’t consider myself to be the type of person who holds grudges, but looking at Gi-hun I feel like he puts me to shame.

Disclaimer: I don’t hate the following characters this is just an analysis.

Example A: Sae-byeok. We all love her in the fandom, but if you think about it– Gi-hun only knew her a couple of days. The first time they met, she stole from him causing him a lot of trouble. When they met again, she didn’t even apologize and was generally rude. And yet, Gi-him was willing to put his life on the line to defend her from 101. And then, he was willing to fight Sang-woo for her. He goes on to take care of her brother for her.

Example B: Speaking of Sang-woo, he betrayed Gi-hun pretty early on during dalgona. I think to some extent Gi-hun knew this but he still let it go. He only got angry when Sang-woo pushed the other player during the bridge game, then with Sae-byeok. And yet, even in the end when Sang-woo tried to kill him (and stabbed him through the hand) and he needed the money for his mother’s treatment. But he was willing to leave the money so they could both leave alive.

Example C: The loan shark. Dude literally beat him up, humiliated him, and made him sign an agreement to sell his organs. And yet, in season 2, Gi-huh is willing to team up with them and pay them to help find the Salesman.

Example D: Jung-bae. Jung-bae is definitely another favorite, and I think we definitely have a bias towards him, but objectively he was not the greatest friend. For one, he was the one who introduced Gi-hun to horse racing, precipitating Gi-hub’s money troubles. When Gi-hun needed his help, he also didn’t lend Gi-hun money for his mother’s treatment (I don’t think he necessarily was to blame for her death, but it is a huge disappointment). They fell out of contact and reunited in the game, where he betrayed Gi-hun again by voting O. This is particularly cold-hearted when you think about the fact that the money pool would only only climb if more players die the next game. That’s what the O’s bank on. Yet, Gi-hun was never able to stay angry, and trusted him to the very end.

It kind of shows that Gi-hun can’t really distinguish from good or bad, and he is uniquely soft-hearted. If someone kicked while he was down, he would probably apologize.

To someone like In-ho, who pretty much seems to be the opposite of Gi-hun in every possible way, I think this kind of attitude makes him angry. But I think at the same time it’s what causes his obsession. In a self-indulgent evil world with bored rich people, organ traffickers, and cannibals (probably) — a person like Gi-hun is an impossibility.

Therefore, in order to satisfy his curiosity, In-ho has to test the boundaries of Gi-hun’s humanity. He’s willing to indulge Gi-hun without letting him escape. (For example, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the Salesman was at the airport when Gi-hun was ready to leave for America. This has In-ho written all over it). He lets Gi-hun join the games, but he won’t let him keep the tracker. He lets the players vote each round, but ensures the X’s are never the majority. He lets Gi-hun stage a rebellion, but won’t let him succeed.

And yet, In-ho would rather let Gi-hun think he died than reveal to Gi-hun that he is the Frontman – arguably something that would hurt him even more.

Is this subconsciously a way out that he’s leaving himself? He knows Gi-hun could forgive him being a coward, because Gi-hun is capable of forgiving anything.

Or is it something worse. I think if you meet someone that can forgive anything, then the most special existence to that person — isn’t it the one person they are capable of hating?

[whereispearlescentmoon]

This is great big-b analysis however I’m annoying and as always must mention the great Nosey Neighbors exception where Big-B, who as theminecraftbee so wonderfully stated is defined by self imposed isolation and Pearl, who had just spent a season alone despite her desperate grasps to connect, managed to team up for an entire season.

I think part of it is that Pearl simply refused to let him isolate himself because Pearl loves being in a team and having teammates and doing things with them. Every season (with the weird exception of Wild Life actually) she tries her darnedest to be around people at all times, even when she ends up alone anyways or even when it hinders her actual progress. How can you isolate yourself when the most earnest dog coded character is begging you to spend time together, to go mess with people together, to resource gather together (and eventually to let her fall on your sword)?

Another aspect is that, like tmb said, BigB hasn’t always been alone. He had people in Third Life. He knows how to be in a team. He had people in Secret Life that he could have been with in the same way if he just let himself. He just can’t trust anyone and frankly, they can’t trust him and he knows that. I don’t know what made him decide not to betray Pearl or make side alliances or any of the things he usually does to ensure that he is safe even if a team falls apart. I don’t know why he hasn’t been able to truly keep himself in a team since. It’s not even a Pearl thing, we saw him betray Pearl in Wild Life when he made a deal with Grian against the Gs! It’s just something about Nosey Neighbors specifically in Limited Life man.

idk sometimes I think about how isolated bigb is. the last time he wasn’t isolated was probably third life, and ever since—well the thing is that he also pushes people away, right? I think about the heart foundation and how bigb always kept a layer between himself and them especially here, but even his soulmate relationship with ren was—isolated. his secret soulmates with grian—well that was half not about him. his and cleo’s relationship that they can’t seem to fix. every season it seems like he has his own base, away from the others, and he’s alone—

I think about the heart foundation.

it’s not that people don’t reach out. it’s that I wonder if he knows, really, how to reach back.

anyway sometimes I think about bigb and isolation.